A Fall Before I Go

“I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t jump, I’ll push.”

What the hell am I doing...here?

Standing on a flimsy square plank that's jutting out of the dangling suspension footbridge of Swiss design, some 500 feet above the Bhote Koshi river in Nepal, I have a suicidal vision of the unblemished fall.

“The fun is in the fear Miss,” the bungee jumping instructor at the Last Resort chuckles, as he steadies my harness and readies me for the freefall into the phlegmy gorge.

Troubled lovers, a dull job, and an impulsive lunacy augmented by the aforementioned, have driven me to this point, and I’m at the Last Resort, where other loons gather to celebrate such masochism.

A three-hour ride from Kathmandu through the famous Arniko highway (Kathmandu/Lhasa), the Last Resort is a Shangri la for adventure junkies from across the world.

Just a few kilometers off the Tibetan border, the resort hosts a variety of adventure sports like bungee jumping, canyon swinging, canyoning, river rafting, mountain biking and hiking.

Hidden beneath the lush forest canopy on a hill overlooking the gorge, the Last Resort is also a relaxing getaway with comfy safari tents and hammocks, good food, friendly staff and a warm, woody bar to lounge about in.

With a hand tucked between my harness and hip, that bungee guy pushes me inch by inch, till my toes stick out of the plank up above the gorge. Right at the edge, cold wind gushes up and intrudes my nasal, aural and mental cavities.

“Three”

I take a deep breath and stretch my arms out to get that impeccable posture I have been advised to adopt.

“Lean forward with your arms out like the wings of an eagle, bend your knees, protrude that lovely bum, and dive into the sky and flyyyy,” were the sinful words that I fell prey to.

“Two”

“I am GOD,” I rehearse in my head. That’s a line I’ve always imagined saying.

This is it.

“Miss. Turn around and say Hello to the lens,” says another bungee veteran who has been sizing up the canyon, the bridge and the constipation in my eyes with a camera, since forever!

“Wait for my count and jump, if you don’t…”

But I jump before my cue … what a pain!
I lose my voice and plummet into the canyon all jerky and clumsy, versus the graceful eagle-like swoop I had planned.

As the cable shudders to an end, I tumble and swirl and bounce mid-air, and my cheeks, belly and double chin jiggle and flap about. The jet of wind, pressure, and water droplets knead and bully my respectable cellulite.

A measly "fuck" is all that I can manage.

By the time I’m pulled into the banks of a far less intimidating gorge (now that we're at the same level), I am floating in my head, with illusions of being a demi-goddess or catwoman or some such magnificent, brave creature. Feeling exulted, the perfect moment could only get better with a hammock, sweet spirits and sweeter music, I imagine.

Alas! Instead of my fantasy of perfection, I have to climb all the way to the top of the hill back to the resort, via a steep, annoyingly slippery, wild trail. I huff and puff and finally reach the resort in about 50 minutes, just twice the amount of time all the other bungee victims take.

The “no more cigarettes” chant uphill vaporizes as soon as I reach the gates of Eden, where I cannot help but light up in jubilation.

After a lovely buffet lunch brimming with colourful fruits and veggies, there’s a video presentation of every jump from that session. I buy a DVD featuring my bungee jump at a small price.

I am also awarded the “I did it” card, which entitles me to a free fourth jump, once I get through the 2nd and 3rd ones.

I know I’m going back to the Last Resort. But first, the Macau Tower…